The Fight or Flight Response
by EmyPink
Summary: When NCIS is taken hostage on a quiet Sunday morning, it's up to Ducky, Abby and Palmer to save the day. A  completed  drama in three parts.
1. Part One

**The Fight or Flight Response**

By EmyPink

_Written for Caos Accidentale as part of NFA's 2010 White Elephant Fanfiction Exchange_

**Disclaimer:** All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters.

**Rating:** T

**Parings:** None

**Characters:** Abby, Ducky, Palmer, OC

**Genres:** Drama, Suspense

**Warnings:** None; set sometime early-ish season six

**Summary: **When NCIS is taken hostage on a quiet Sunday morning, it is up to Ducky, Abby and Palmer to save the day. A drama in three parts.

**A/N** Originally completed and posted on NFA in June. Just re-discovered it on my computer and decided to post it here.

But I've taken a few liberties with the security systems and layout of NCIS headquarters to better suit the story, especially in the beginning of the third part. I'm not exactly sure how NCIS would really react in such a situation, or what the proper security measures are, so I've used some creative licence. It's best to just go with the flow and enjoy the story for what it is, inaccuracies and all.

* * *

**Part One**

Music blared from the speakers, echoing across the room as Abby rolled her chair from one computer to another. It was a Sunday, but Abby and the rest of Gibbs' team were hard at work – a Petty Officer had been found dead clutching State secrets. So since the SecNav had declared it a national security issue, the team had been working 'round the clock. Abby, currently, was waiting for her babies to work their magic. Major Mass Spec was analysing a foreign compound found at the crime scene and some of her computers were running a search for a possible suspect through every database she could get her hands on.

Abby sighed and twirled her chair, flipping her pigtails out as she did so. She was bored. There was nothing to do besides wait for her machines to beep. What she'd do for a visit from Gibbs and a Caff-Pow; Abby looked at the empty red container forlornly. Even Palmer would have been a welcome distraction from the monotonous Sunday morning.

Closing her eyes, Abby willed Gibbs to pick up on her brainwaves and walk into her lab carrying a Caff-Pow. But no such luck. Abby opened her eyes a moment later and she was still alone, with only her machines for company.

She sighed again and rolled to one of her computers that wasn't running a scan. Maybe she could get on Facebook; it wasn't exactly regulation, but it was a Sunday and Abby was bored. Pulling up a new window, Abby's fingers were just poised over the keyboard when her machines started to beep.

. . . Wait, no. It wasn't her machines.

Bewildered, Abby glanced around her lab. Dully, she knew she recognised the sound but for some reason it wasn't registering. She looked across at Major Mass Spec sitting quietly against the wall and then back to her computers humming away.

Only a second or two had passed, but then it finally registered with Abby. It was rare to hear that noise in the NCIS building and Abby was sure it must have been a drill. But it was a Sunday, wasn't it? Why run a lockdown drill on a day when most of the building was relaxing at home?

Jerking in her seat, Abby flicked over and pulled up her inter-office email. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No indication that this was a drill, was an accident, was anything other than a real lockdown. Abby grabbed her phone, punching in the number of the bullpen with such ferocity that it shook in her hand.

It rang . . . and rang . . . and rang.

Cursing softly, Abby changed tactics and stood abruptly from her chair. She swiped her cell phone on the way and dialled Gibbs again as she dashed into the other part of her lab. Abby clicked on her videophone, immediately connecting with Autopsy where she knew Ducky and Palmer were working on discovering the secrets of their dead Petty Officer.

"Ducky!" she exclaimed as the medical examiner appeared on the tiny screen. Her cell went to voice mail so she hit redial.

"Abigail," Ducky acknowledged with a slight nod.

"Do you know what's happening?" she asked quickly, glancing around her lab as though she expected an axe murderer to jump out from behind the door and hack her to death.

"I do believe we are in lockdown," Ducky summarised as the siren continued to sound.

"Well, duh," Abby replied sarcastically, hitting the redial button again. "I got that bit. But why are we in lockdown? What's going on? I can't get hold of Gibbs. He won't answer his phone. What if it's not a drill or an accident? What if something is really, really wrong! Maybe it's an axe murderer! Why won't he answer his phone?"

"Abigail, calm down," Ducky said gently through the videophone. "I am sure there is a very reasonable explanation for the lockdown and for why Jethro is not picking up your calls. Perhaps he is busy."

"But what if he's not!" Abby exclaimed, gesturing wildly with her hands. "What if something bad has _really_ happened? What do we do?"

"We do as the lockdown suggests," Ducky told her. "We stay calm and remain where we are. I am sure it is a drill or an accident. I don't think there is anything to worry about, Abigail. There are certainly no axe murderers."

"But how do you know?" Abby cried.

"Abby . . ." Ducky started, almost warningly. "Calm down. There's nothing to worry about."

Abby chewed on her bottom lip. "Well . . ." she started, unsure. "If you think so . . ."

"Just stay where you are," Ducky replied, though he was distracted by someone off-screen. "Now I have to go and make sure Mister Palmer doesn't . . . _No. Not that one, lad_. . . . I have to go. Stay there." Ducky shifted from focus and the videophone screen went blank.

Wringing her hands, Abby redialled Gibbs' number again and when nobody picked up she tried McGee. And Tony. And Ziva. After four unsuccessful calls, Abby was ready to throw her cell across the room. _Why was no one answering!_ If it were just a misunderstanding, why wasn't anyone picking up their phones?

Abby had a bad feeling.

Slinking back into the main part of her lab, Abby made up her mind. Flicking off her pounding sound system, leaving only the ominous squeal of the alarm, Abby cast a quick look over her machines before heading towards the door. She wasn't about to wait around for the axe murderer to hack her to death in a steely silent lab.

Abby shut the door to her lab silently as she slipped into the hallway. It was empty, only the clanging siren echoed against the walls. She knew she shouldn't be moving, should've been staying in her lab, but her gut was telling her to _go, go, go_. Abby wasn't, however, naive enough to think going to the bullpen was a good idea, just on the off-chance an axe murderer really was rampaging. Nor did she think it a good idea to use the elevators. Elevators made noise and would announce her presence to any present axe murderers.

Instead, Abby headed for the stairwell that would take her down to Autopsy.

* * *

"Ah, Mister Palmer, didn't I tell you not to . . ." Ducky started, but was cut off as the doors to Autopsy chimed and slid open. Ducky sighed and without turning around, he said, "Do you not understand the concept of lockdown, Abigail?"

Abby paused. The ringing alarm was just as loud and just as ominous down here as it had been in her lab. "How did you know it was me?"

"It is either you or an axe murderer, and I'd rather not entertain the idea of an axe murderer in my Autopsy," Ducky replied pleasantly, still bent over the dead Petty Officer.

"Hi, Abby," Palmer said cheerfully, accidently waving a cadaver as a hello. He looked at it and amended, "I mean, I say hello, not Petty Officer Banks. It's not like he can say hello anyway; he's a bit . . . indisposed." Palmer laughed awkwardly.

"Nice, Palmer," Abby muttered. "If you hadn't realised, we're in the middle of a lockdown!"

"Which means you should still be in your lab," Ducky pointed out, straightening up and moving away from Petty Officer Banks in order to place something in an evidence jar. It clanged to the bottom with a metallic ping.

"I wasn't about to wait around for the axe murder," Abby remarked. "And safety in numbers, remember."

"Or more targets in one place," Palmer pointed out, putting Petty Officer Banks' arm down on a tray. "I've always found it odd that they say safety in numbers but really it just makes a bigger target, don't you think."

"Not helping," Abby replied as she glanced furtively around the room. "Are you sure you don't know what's going on?"

"We know as much as you do, Abigail," Ducky answered, flicking on the fluorescent lights so he could examine the Petty's Officer's x-rays. "Ah," he said, though mostly to himself. "As I thought. One bullet to the upper quadrant and the poor man found himself bleeding to death. It would not have been pleasant."

"What's up with the arm, then?" Abby asked curiously, making her way over to Palmer and glancing down at the severed arm.

"That I am not sure of," Ducky replied, shrugging. "I believe that is a job for Jethro."

"Who's not answering his phone," Abby said absentmindedly, slipping on a glove so that she could poke the severed arm. She frowned. "It was severed."

Ducky nodded.

"With a hunting knife, probably," Abby continued, dropping the cadaver back onto its tray. She pulled off the glove and said, "Get me a photograph and I'll run it through my babies. I'm sure . . ."

She was cut off as Ducky's computer chimed an incoming email. Pausing, Ducky glanced at Abby who was the only one of the three not covered in blood and body parts. With over-exaggerated hurriedness, Abby raced over to the desk and clicked open the email window.

Abby sighed loudly. "It's just one of admin's automated emails advising us that a lockdown has been activated and could we please stay where we are." She harrumphed. "I'm going ring the bossman again."

She pulled out her cell and dialled. Like last time and the time before that, it rang and it rang but no one picked up. Abby threw Ducky a worried looked and commented, "He's still not picking up."

Ducky clicked off his x-ray light, leaving the scans on the blackened box. "Have you tried Timothy? Or Anthony? Ziva, perhaps."

"I've tried them all, Duck," Abby replied nervously. "And they won't pick up either. I _know_ they're here because I spoke to Tony half an hour ago."

"Try them again," Ducky suggested. He didn't want to admit it, but he too was getting a foreboding feeling.

So Abby did. She dialled McGee first. No answer. Tony. Nothing. Ziva. The same. Gibbs again. Silence.

Abby, Ducky and Palmer looked at each other silently as the final phone rang out. Then, absentmindedly twirling the end of her pigtail, Abby announced, "I'm hacking the security cameras in the squadroom."

"Is that really necessary?" Palmer asked, looking slightly worried. "Doctor Mallard said it was just a drill."

"I said, Mister Palmer, that I _thought_ it was a drill," Ducky replied curtly.

"So there _is_ an axe murderer?"

Ducky didn't know how to answer that.

"That's it," Abby declared. "I'm hacking into the cameras now."

She leaned over the desk and started to furiously tap away at the keyboard. Ducky's autopsy computer wasn't designed for hacking but with some clever handy work, Abby was able to access her lab's mainframe and use it to access the security cameras that littered the squadroom.

Discarding their autopsy gear, Ducky and Palmer hovered nervously behind Abby as she worked. Wincing and momentarily pausing her assault on NCIS' security system, Abby spun her head around and glared at the autopsy inhabitants. They backed away and Abby nodded once, turning back to the computer.

Another couple of keystrokes and a few enters later, Abby had access to the security cameras. She grinned, she'd never hacked NCIS' cameras before, but then her grin turned to a horrified frown.

Abby was staring into a barrel of a gun.

* * *

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" Abby repeated as she paced the floor of Autopsy.

"Doctor, what do we do?" Palmer hovered unsteadily near the morgue draws.

Ducky stared at the computer screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. How had security been breached so badly that it allowed armed men to take the squadroom? From his vantage point in autopsy, Ducky could see on the pixelised screen that Gibbs and his team, plus two other agents he couldn't identify, had been rounded up by the armed men (Ducky counted four) and shoved into Gibbs' bullpen. They sat, hands on their heads, against the desks.

"Oh, my God!" Abby exclaimed again and that was enough to jolt Ducky from his shocked stupor.

"Abigail, do be quiet," he hissed, keeping one eye on the computer screen and turning the other on Abby. "Stop pacing. We need to think."

"Think!" Abby screeched. "There are armed men in the building and they have Gibbs! And McGee! And Tony! And Ziva!"

"I'm well aware of that," Ducky replied testily. "But we cannot do anything if we panic." He glanced over at Palmer. "First things first, we need to secure the room."

"Secure the room?" Palmer repeated dully.

"Yes, Jimmy, secure the room."

With legs that didn't feel like his own, Ducky started the process of locking the doors. Generally these systems were designed for bio-hazards, but Ducky figured that they'd work well enough to keep unwelcome visitors out. He tried not to think of the last time the security at NCIS had been breached so badly. That incident had given them Ziva, but had lost them Kate. Ducky didn't think that NCIS could handle another death, not so soon after Director Shepard.

"What if they find us?" Abby was panicking. "God, I should have never left my lab. What if I'd run into one of them? Forget axe murderers. Terrorists!"

"We don't know if they are terrorists, Abigail," Ducky said calmly, at least he hoped he sounded calm.

"Armed men with guns? What else could they be?"

"Doctor Mallard's right." Palmer was surprised that he'd finally managed to find his voice. It was like a fog had lifted from his mind and he could suddenly think clearly. Palmer felt a sense of calm in the face of danger, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"We need to think about this logically," Palmer continued, wondering when on earth he'd been a voice of reason.

"Logically, right." Abby looked as though she was calming down, but the others couldn't be sure. She nodded. "I can do logically."

"Good," Ducky said as he finished securing the doors. "Good. The next thing we need do to is call for assistance. We cannot call anyone in this building, but the Navy Yard security should have all the relevant procedures for such an occasion."

"Right. Call Navy security." Although she said this, Abby didn't move.

It was Palmer who went for the phone, but as he reached for it, the lights failed and plunged Autopsy into darkness.

Abby shrieked. Though it was still bright daylight outside, Autopsy had no windows and no natural light. Eerie shadows bathed the smooth contours of the equipment and Abby jumped as a dead phone clattered onto the desk.

In annoyance, Palmer had let the phone fall from his hand. He knew it was futile, but he'd tried it anyway. No dial tone; any access they might have had was cut off. The gravity of the situation dawned on Palmer, and he wondered if today was the day he was going to die.

"My cell!" Abby yelled suddenly, fumbling in her pocket. "If the landlines aren't working because of whatever, cell phones should still work unless . . ." She watched with growing horror as the bars of her phone flickered down to zero.

"No. No. No! This is not happening!" Abby resisted the urge to throw her cell phone across the room again. "They've jammed the signal." She looked up in horror. "We're stuck. We can't call anyone because the power is off. We can't text because they're jamming the signal. And we can't go anywhere in case we run into a gun-wielding terrorist!"

Abby looked ready to cry.

"Isn't there a way to, uh, block the jamming signal?" Palmer asked as he pulled two flashlights from the emergency store of equipment. He clicked one on and accidently shined it in Abby's eyes, making her wince violently.

"Watch where you point that thing, Palmer," she all but snapped. "And I could block it, if I were in my lab and if my lab was actually working. No power, Jimmy, don't you get it!"

"Hey, shouldn't the back-up generator be coming on?" Palmer remembered suddenly.

Ducky frowned as he accepted the second flashlight. "You are right, Mister Palmer. The back-up generator should have come on by now."

"But it hasn't," Abby pointed out.

"Um, and I don't want to make a bad situation worse . . ." Palmer started, trailing his flashlight over to the dead body of Petty Officer Banks. "But what about the bodies?"

Abby groaned and sank into one of the desk chairs. "Thanks for bring that up, Palmer. I was trying not to think about it."

Ducky glanced at the body splayed open on the table. He sighed. "Sorry, dear boy, but we're going to have to take a scheduled interruption during out lovely chat. Mister Palmer, if you would be so kind as to close the poor fellow and pop him in one of the draws. We will have to hold out the hope that we regain power soon. Otherwise, we may have to take the chance with our friends upstairs."

"What are we going to do?" Abby moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "We're stuck here like huge walking targets. What happens when they decide that maybe they should be searching the whole building?"

"We'll deal with that _if_ it happens," Ducky replied firmly. "For now we . . ."

Abby screamed, cutting Ducky off mid-sentence. Palmer jumped violently; his flashlight clattering to the floor. Ducky's blood ran cold and for a moment he truly thought that this was his end.

But then Abby was out of her chair and racing over to the sliding doors. She waved her hands frantically, trying to activate the motion sensors. She spun around when nothing happed, pigtails whipping against her head.

"The doors are locked!" she cried, looking desperate.

In an instance, Ducky was behind her and gaping out the door. There was a trail of blood smeared ominously across the floor outside Autopsy and at the end, like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, was a man wearing an NCIS security guard uniform.

"Abigail, quickly. Press that button there." Ducky pointed to a slightly obscured knob on the wall.

"Is that a good idea?" Palmer asked breathlessly, his earlier calm seemed to have evaporated; he didn't want to die. He groped the floor for the fallen flashlight. "What about the terr–"

Ducky ignored the question and instead made a rule. "No more mentions of terrorists in my Autopsy. Now, Abby, the door."

Stumbling in shock, Abby slapped her hand against the button and the autopsy doors sprang open. Ducky tumbled out, followed closely by Abby, and dropped to his knees. Immediately, he forgot what was happening, what was going on above, and entered his doctor zone; nothing mattered but the patient in front of him.

"Keep still," Ducky muttered, pressing his hand against the writhing man. "Moving will only make things worse. Your torch please, Mister Palmer."

"Harry!" Abby exclaimed, dropping down so that she was nearly level with the security guard.

"Miss Sciuto," Harry ground out. He attempted a grin, but it was definitely more like a grimace. "Nice top. Wish you'd give the missus some advice."

Abby managed a watery smile in return. "I thought I'd told you. _Skull and Cross_."

"And I told you." Harry stifled a yelp of pain. "She never listens to me. A bright young thing on the other hand . . ." He cried out and Abby could feel tears welling up in the corner of her eyes.

"The bullet is lodged in your abdomen, I'm afraid," Ducky said gently, gesturing for Palmer to bring across the cloth he'd asked for while Abby and Harry had been conversing. "And I am just a purveyor of the dead. I am, unfortunately, not a surgeon and my autopsy is not an operating room." He looked up at Abby. "We need to get him out of here."

"Uh, there's just the small problem of the terr–, um, bad guys, Doctor," Palmer offered as he handed over the towels.

"Yes, Mister Palmer, I'm well aware of that."

"But there must be a way, right?" Abby asked, blinking through tears as she clutched Harry's hand. "What about receiving? The garage?"

Harry shook his head and groaned. "No . . . no. They're . . . they're taking all the floors, one-by-one. I heard them say that as . . . as they forced their way in. Got shot for my trouble. It's Sunday . . . less people . . . easier to control . . . Bringing everyone to the second floor squadroom."

"Jethro's floor," Ducky confirmed with a small sigh.

"They . . . said they were going up first . . . but not that many people are up in the other divisions . . . Probably be finished soon," Harry gasped.

Abby's eyes were wide. "That means they could burst out the elevator at any moment!"

"The elevators are down, Abigail," Ducky reminded her.

"Then the stairs!"

"She's right, you know," Palmer remarked, glancing furtively around the alcove outside Autopsy. "We're totally exposed out here. At least inside we're safe . . . mostly."

"Unless they decide to hide in body bags," Ducky muttered darkly.

"Is that likely?" Palmer asked with a slight dazed look on his face.

"How do you think you got your job, Palmer?" Abby replied, glaring.

"Oh, right." Palmer rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Despite his obvious lack of tact, Mister Palmer does have a point," Ducky conceded. "We are as you said earlier, Abby, huge walking targets out here." Ducky paused. "Mister Palmer, help me move Mr Layne inside."

Without waiting for Palmer's reply, Ducky shifted his position and levered Harry so that his arms were supporting the bleeding man's torso. Awkwardly, Ducky pulled himself to his feet and ordered Palmer to take Harry's feet. With Abby leading the way, Ducky and Palmer managed to half-carry, half-drag Harry into the Autopsy bay.

The doors slid shut behind them.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

"What are we going to do? What are we going to do? What are we going to do?" Abby had resumed her pacing and her frantic muttering. Her heeled boots clicked against the tilted floor and her belt chain jangled.

"I don't suppose those drawers are large enough to hide all of us?" Harry joked as Ducky tried his best to stem the blood flow and wrap the wound. Harry was trying not to wince violently, but was having a bit of trouble with that.

"I'm sure Petty Officer Banks would be grateful for the company," Ducky replied jovially, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "I admit I don't often have live patients, but that should be okay for now." He frowned. "We do really need to get you to a hospital, Mr Layne."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. "You don't have any resistance from me. The terrorists on the other hand . . ."

Abby cut Harry off as she stopped pacing and shook her head. "Nuhuh, you can't say terrorist in here," she told him. "Ducky's rule." She paused. "I like it. Rule One: Don't mention terrorists in Autopsy. You should start a collection, Duckman! Rule Two could be: Just because he doesn't talk back doesn't mean he's not a good conversationalist. Number Three . . ."

"Abigail, please," Ducky scolded mildly, patting Harry fondly on the shoulder. He moved away and pulled off his protective scrubs; he'd swapped into a clean pair after they had pulled Harry onto a table.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Abby sighed as Ducky helped Harry to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the autopsy table. "I'm just worried and when I'm worried I talk too much and say nonsense things and . . . I'm doing it now, aren't I?"

"We need to concentrate on what's important here," Ducky said finally, after a moment's pause. "One: we need to find a way to contact someone outside the building. Unless you can hack into the Navy Yard cameras, Abby, then we have no idea what is going on outside. Two: Mr Layne needs medical attention and I can't give it to him here. Three: we need to make sure that we do not become hostages ourselves."

"Easy for you to say, Doctor," Palmer pointed out. "But how exactly do we do those things? Phones are down, we can't get Harry out unless we risk running into the te– bad guys, and in saying that, they're probably on their way down here as we speak!"

"No need to be overdramatic, Mister Palmer." Ducky nodded. "But you are correct. We need a way to defend ourselves if we must. I cannot guarantee the contamination lockdown will hold."

"They disarmed me," Harry croaked out, clutching his stomach and looking rather pale. "Sorry. But I guess one gun wouldn't be much help with many."

"What if . . ." Abby started slowly. "What if we had more than one gun? Think about it for a minute. Even if we can't fight them, we can at least try and defend ourselves."

"And where, pray tell, do you expect to find some guns lying around?" Ducky asked.

Abby raised her hand timidly. "I've been backlogging and cataloguing old evidence from the late nineties, digitalising it and all that." She paused. "There are a few guns and some ammunition in with that lot, I think." Abby paused again. "I'd have to get to my lab, though."

Ducky shook his head. "We cannot be sure that they're not already on their way down here. We cannot risk getting caught off guard. It . . ."

"Well it beats sitting down here and doing nothing!" Abby burst out. "Don't you get it! There are terrorists, _actual real-life breathing terrorists_, taking NCIS hostage and you just want to sit here and do nothing! At least this way we'd at least have a chance!"

"Of getting killed," Ducky snapped. "We cannot risk it."

"No . . ." Abby said slowly. "_We_ cannot risk it, but _I_ can. I'll go to my lab and get the guns."

"Absolutely not!" Ducky roared. "I am not letting you put yourself in harm's way! What would Jethro think?"

"Well, _Jethro_ is stuck being a hostage," Abby spat. "It's obvious that _they_ can't do anything. And do you really think I'm going to sit around and let my friends be killed without trying to do something to stop it?" Abby shook her head determinedly. "I'm getting the guns."

"_Abigail_ . . ."

"No. _No_. You don't get to Abigail me, Ducky." Abby shook her head again. "I've made up my mind." She stuck her nose in the air. "I'm going to get those guns."

"I'll go with you," Palmer volunteered before he even really knew what he was saying. He paused and blushed. "I mean, uh . . . um, erm . . ." He sighed. "Yeah, I'll go with you."

"That's not necessary," Abby told him quickly.

"Yeah, I think it is." Palmer was surprised that his wave of calm had returned just as he was about to embark on what could be a suicide mission. "You cannot go by yourself, Abby, and Doctor Mallard is the only qualified doctor. He needs to stay here. That leaves me . . . Jimmy Palmer."

Abby gave him a long, searching look but then nodded. "Okay." She rubbed her temples. "Okay. Jimmy will come with me and the Duckman will stay here with my favourite security guard. Yes, that's what we'll do."

"And I can't talk you out of it?" Ducky implored.

She shook her head firmly. "We're going to my lab."

Ducky sighed, resigned. "But be careful," he warned.

"We will." Abby nodded as she picked up the second flashlight; Ducky had dropped it in his haste to get to Harry. "I promise." She turned to Palmer. "So, Black Lung, you ready to go?"

Palmer gulped . . . and nodded.

* * *

"It's so quiet," Palmer whispered as he and Abby inched their way along the darkened stairwell. Thankfully, they'd soon be back where there were windows and the eerie darkness that only seemed to intensify the severity of their situation would be banished.

"Well yeah, Palmer," Abby replied sarcastically, swinging the flashlight she was carrying into his face. "We don't want to go spooking the terrorists, now do we?"

Palmer winced and shielded his eyes from the light with his arm. "You don't think they . . ." Palmer started, but Abby held up a hand and stopped abruptly which effectively cut Palmer off.

He all but ran into Abby's back as she stopped. "Wha . . .?"

"Did you hear that?" Abby cut him off again.

"Hear what? I don't hear anything." Palmer glanced around nervously as if a bullet would suddenly materialise from thin air.

"Shhh," Abby shushed in annoyance. She was straining her ears; she was sure she'd heard something above them.

"Abby, I don't think . . ."

There was a loud thud and a clatter. Abby gasped audibly and Palmer yelped, grabbing onto the back of Abby's black and white t-shirt in fear. He wondered for a moment how he could swing from being calm and confident to terrified in zero to sixty, but then Abby jerked him from his thoughts.

"Palmer!" Abby hissed, twisting her head around to glare at the medical assistant. "Get your hands off me."

"Wha . . . what do you think that was?" Palmer gulped, ignoring Abby altogether.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Abby replied slowly, though her voice wavered.

"But . . ."

Abby shook her head. "We need to keep moving."

"What if they're waiting for us up there?" Palmer asked quietly as Abby pulled his hands from her top.

"What if they're waiting for us down there?" Abby echoed, taking a tentative step forward.

Palmer stumbled as he lost his grip on Abby. Abby sighed and reached out to steady him before he could tumble back down the stairs. They glanced at each other for a moment before Abby finally said,

"We need to go." She took another step forward, more confidently this time, and motioned for Palmer to follow.

Palmer took a deep breath and nodded. Abby was right; they needed to keep going. And the sooner they reached Abby's lab, the sooner they could get back to Doctor Mallard and Harry.

"Right." Palmer wrung his hands nervously. "Off we go."

Slowly and carefully, Abby and Palmer inched along one step at a time. Although they were only going up one level, in the shadowy darkness and with the threat hanging over their heads, it felt as though they were walking to the very top of the tallest building in D.C.

"We must be almost there?" Palmer whispered, breathing heavily. He was so on guard, so tense, that he was certain any small movement would either send him careening into Abby or back down the stairs.

"I hope so," Abby muttered and to her great relief, they stepped into the corridor that led to her lab.

It was still dark, the lights were still completely useless, but the promise of light from the little half windows she had in her lab were enough to slowly push the pair forwards. Tentatively, they made their way around the corridors, feeling as though they were inside a labyrinth instead of an easily navigable government building.

But then they heard the voices.

This time it wasn't a figment of Abby's imagination or something high above, the voices were here, right now, nearly on top of them. Abby's head started to pound and she froze. She couldn't think, she couldn't move, and she wondered if she was about to die in a darkened corridor.

But Palmer thankfully, though he was shaking with fear, had managed to keep his head and muttered to Abby, "We have to hide."

Abby shook her head mutely.

"Abby, _come on_." Palmer tugged her arm, finally freeing his companion from her self-induced stupor. "We have to get out of here."

"Where?" Abby finally found her voice as the pair pressed themselves against the darkened orange walls as flatly as possible. "I don't exactly see very many hiding places, Palmer."

The voices grew louder and by the minute amount of lighting coming from two sets of flashlights, Abby could see shadows outlined on the wall in front of them. With an audible gulp, Abby clicked off the flashlight and plunged them into near darkness; the only light came from the high-powered beam of the terrorists' flashlight.

"What are we . . ." Abby started but never got to finish her sentence as Palmer yanked forcefully on her arm and threw open a door to some unknown room.

He dragged Abby into the room, it was a tight squeeze, and shoved her into the corner of their little room, having to press up against her in order to pull the door shut. It closed with an ominous click, encasing them in pure, fear-inducing darkness.

That was until Abby clicked on the flashlight and shined it in Palmer's face.

"Palmer!" she yelped. "Get off me. I don't like being groped in the dark."

"What . . . huh?" Palmer had a bent arm across his face to shield it from Abby's light. "Could you get that thing out of my eyes?

Abby frowned and waggled the flashlight in front of him. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"I just saved our lives." Palmer tried to push the light away, but Abby remained determined.

"Abby, please."

"Okay, okay." Abby swung the beam of light away from Palmer's face and pointed it towards the floor.

Palmer sighed in relief and said, "Thank you."

"What is this place anyway?" Abby asked, sweeping her flashlight around the room. "It's so small and . . ." Her flashlight fell upon a long-handled object propped up against one of the room's small walls.

Abby glared and punched Palmer in the arm.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, indignant. "What was that for?"

"You locked us in a broom closet," Abby hissed. "A _broom closet_."

"It was the first door I saw!" Palmer protested.

"What if it had had a terrorist behind it?" Abby scowled.

"Um . . . we would have been unlucky?" Palmer replied awkwardly.

"Shhh," Abby hushed suddenly, pressing a finger to her lips. She flicked off the flashlight again, plunging the room into total darkness. "I think I hear something."

Palmer snapped his mouth shut and concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. If that door was pulled open and them found, there was absolutely no way the two could defend themselves.

"Could you breathe a little quieter?" Abby murmured as the voices outside reached a crescendo.

"Am trying," Palmer muttered.

They were still tightly pressed together and each could feel the other shake. Abby was wringing her hands nervously and Palmer just wanted to reach out and make them stop; her hands were making him even more nervous.

After a brief yet scarily tense moment, the voices faded from earshot. Both Abby and Palmer breathed a sigh of relief and Abby clicked the flashlight back on.

"Thank God," she breathed, leaning heavily against one of the walls. She glanced at Palmer. "That was close."

"Tell me about it," Palmer muttered. He looked at the door and asked nervously, "Do you think they've gone?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know."

"Should we . . . should we risk it?"

Abby shrugged again. "I _don't_ know, Palmer. I don't know what to do, what to think. What do you think we should do? Why is it always me making the decisions? I'm sick of it!"

"Whoa, calm down, Abby." Palmer put a hand on Abby's shoulder but she shrugged it off. "Look, I know this is not the most ideal situation . . ."

"But what?" Abby yelled. "There are terrorists in my building, hurting my friends and I'm stuck in a closet!" She choked out a sob. "I can't do this."

"But we have to. Please, Abby. I can't do this without you. Doctor Mallard and Harry are counting on us. We need to do something. We can't just sit around and wait for something to happen. I'm too young to die!"

Abby managed a laugh through her tears. She reached up and scrubbed them away with the back of her hand. She nodded and agreed, "You're right. You're too young to die and I'm too important to die. What would NCIS and my babies without me?"

Palmer nodded eagerly. "Yes, exactly. And . . ." He gave Abby a lopsided grin. ". . . Isn't it just a little bit thrilling?"

Abby laughed and nudged him in the shoulder. "No, it's absolutely terrifying." She shook her head to clear out the negative thoughts. "Let's do it."

Pushing the door open the tiniest little bit, Palmer squinted and peeked through the gap. The corridor, while dark and foreboding, was empty much to their relief. He nodded at Abby and said,

"Coast's clear."

Abby shot him a grin. "And just how long have you wanted to say that?"

Palmer blushed slightly. "Um . . . since I was a kid?"

Abby laughed. "Thought so." She paused and then declared, "Okay, Black Lung, let's move out.

* * *

"Abby, hurry up," Palmer hissed, bouncing from one foot to another in the doorway to the inner section of Abby's lab. His eyes kept darting back and forth between the Goth fossicking around in her lab to the very open and very exposed door.

"Just hold on a minute," Abby called as she tossed a black pistol she'd taken out of its evidence bag into a box that used to house reports of some kind. "I'm nearly done."

"Are you sure this a good idea?" Palmer muttered, watching as Abby slid into ballistics and pulled out some ammunition from a draw.

"Do you have a better idea, Palmer?" she asked irritably as she threw the bullets into the cardboard box next to the black pistol.

"You're breaking the chain of evidence, you know," Palmer pointed out as sun shone through the small semi-circle windows of Abby's lab. They had both been grateful for the little bit of real light they found after stumbling into the lab only moments ago.

"I know that," Abby said through gritted teeth, slinging a revolver into the box. "But desperate times call for desperate measures, Jimmy. Evidence or my life, I think I know which one I'll choose. What about you?"

"Point taken," Palmer sighed, glancing around nervously. "Are you done yet?"

"I'll be done a lot quicker if you stop asking me that," Abby growled, plucking another gun from its evidence case.

"Right, sorry." Palmer fell silent, jiggling warily on the spot. Any minute a terrorist could burst through that door and . . .

"Done!" Abby announced, dropping one final thing into the cardboard box. She grinned at Palmer. "Let's get out of here." She tucked the box under her arm.

"Finally." Palmer breathed a sigh of relief.

He followed Abby into the outer part of her lab. They paused just outside the door, listening for any sounds of danger. Thankfully it was deathly silent beyond the lab, so Abby and Palmer slipped out cautiously, their senses hyperaware.

Abby closed and locked her lab manually; she'd had to do the same thing for them to get inside in the first place. For once, Abby was glad for the fiddly manual lock override that was normally more trouble than it was worth. However, as soon as the lab was closed off and the pair had started down the corridor, Abby and Palmer were plunged back into darkness.

"I hate the dark," Palmer grumbled as they slowly moved their way along the blackened corridor, sweeping the flashlights across so they could see where they were going.

"Agreed," Abby replied softly. "And I like the dark! Just not dark infested with terrorists with big scary guns."

"Well," Palmer laughed nervously, "at least it's not an axe murderer."

"I guess, though I might like my chances better with one axe murderer rather than with many terrorists." Abby shrugged, but then stopped abruptly.

Again, Palmer ran into her back with a muffled thud. "What-what is it?"

Abby spun around, flashing the light onto her face. "Palmer!" she exclaimed. "You stepped on the back of my foot!"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Palmer blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"Never mind," Abby huffed. "Just . . . just keep your distance, okay. We don't need to be on top of each other."

"Got it." Palmer nodded. "Keeping my distance."

Once Abby and Palmer were a suitable, yet practical, distance away from each other, they finished their slow crawl to the top of the stairwell leading back down to Autopsy. If it were possible, the stairs looked even darker than the corridor.

"Um." Abby bit her bottom lip. "Men first?"

* * *

They stumbled into the little alcove outside Autopsy.

"Watch it, Palmer," Abby grumbled as she tried to steady herself; they'd been tripping and almost tumbling over each other all the way down the stairwell.

"Sorry," he apologised, looking sheepish. "I'm just not used to the stairs in the dark."

"And you think I am?" Abby pushed past Palmer and pressed the button that would manually open the doors to Autopsy.

Palmer sighed and followed Abby, glancing at Harry's trail of blood in the dull sheen of the flashlight glow. It was a poor parody of the Yellow Brick Road leading towards Oz . . . or in this case Autopsy.

Abby screamed.

Palmer's heart stopped for just a second. He froze on the spot. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel . . . but then Abby was yelling something.

"Ducky?" she shrieked. "Harry?"

That was enough to snap Palmer from his frozen moment and he raced into Autopsy, a tangle of limbs and panic. He held his breath and tried to brace himself for what he could possibly see inside.

Autopsy was completely empty.

"Where-where . . ." Palmer stuttered incomprehensibly.

But then he saw the shell casings and that cold feeling crept back under his skin. Sprinkled under his feet, the casings were an ominous sign that things were seriously wrong.

"Oh God," Abby whispered, the flashlight and the weapons in messed heap on the floor.

Palmer was speechless. They couldn't be . . . could they? No. No. Palmer did not want to entertain that idea, not even for a second. Then he noticed it . . . or perhaps the _lack_ of it.

"Abby," Palmer whispered frantically. "Abby, there's no blood. If they were shot then why isn't there any blood?"

"You're . . . you're right." Abby's eyes grew wide and she turned to face Palmer. "There's no blood!" she exclaimed. "No blood means that maybe they're okay! Maybe they were just taken." She grinned with relief and threw her arms around Palmer's neck.

Palmer couldn't help but grin as well. As long as Doctor Mallard and Harry the security guard weren't dead, then things were okay.

There was a bang.

And another.

And another.

Abby screamed and instinctively, Palmer put himself between Abby and the perceived threat. But no bullets came, no terrorists jumped out from the shadows, nothing happened except for another . . .

Bang.

"The drawers!" Abby shrieked after a moment of stunned silence. "The banging! It's the drawers!"

"Huh?" Palmer couldn't quite get his head around anything at the moment.

"The drawers!" Abby exclaimed and dashed over to the wall of refrigerated drawers that were used to keep bodies in. "There's someone in the drawers!"

"And we would very much like to get out, Abigail," drawer 107 told her, "if you please."

"Ducky!"

"Yes, Abby, thank you," Ducky's muffled voice came. "Now if you wouldn't mind. I believe Mr Layne is in drawer one hundred."

"Palmer," Abby ordered, gesturing Palmer over. "Drawer one hundred."

She didn't wait to see if Palmer followed her instructions. Abby leant over and pulled on the handle of drawer 107. It slid open easily, revealing the face of their beloved medical examiner. Abby helped Ducky up before embracing him in a patented Abby hug.

Then she hit him on the shoulder and scolded, "Don't you ever do that again! You gave me a heart attack coming in here and finding you gone with casings in your place!"

"I am sorry, Abby," Ducky apologised, patting her affectionately on the arm. "But I am afraid we had no choice."

"Exactly." Harry emerged from drawer 100. "We heard the ter-er-bad guys approaching, not very silent for skilled killers, which gave us enough time to hide."

"And unfortunately the only place we could think of where they might not look were the drawers," Ducky finished, shaking out the kinks he'd got from his short time holed up in one of his own autopsy drawers.

"Didn't you see them on your way up?" Harry asked, clutching his side awkwardly.

Abby and Palmer shared a look before chiming, "We saw them alright."

"Ok-ay?" Harry glanced back and forth between the pair before giving up and shrugging, which was a bad move because it jolted his gunshot wound.

"Ugh." He stumbled and nearly sank to his knees; if it hadn't been for Palmer's good reflexes, he would have.

"Easy," Palmer said as he helped Harry across the room and onto the swivel desk chair. He glanced at the wound. "It's bleeding again."

"Damnit," Harry cursed as Palmer grabbed a fresh roll of bandages and started to press them against Harry's side.

"Just hold them there for a moment," Palmer suggested. "Doctor?" He looked over at Ducky.

Ducky nodded and made his way over to the two men. He eyed Harry critically and agreed with Palmer. "You're bleeding again." He sighed. "We really should get you to a hospital."

"We could shoot our way out," Abby suggested, holding up one of the guns. She was on her knees and was gathering the fallen weapons. The flashlight was propped up on one of the autopsy tables, casting shadows across the room.

"There will not be any shooting unless absolutely necessary," Ducky replied tersely. "First we try and contact someone on the outside."

Abby stood, put the box of guns next to the flashlight and pulled out her cell phone. She shook her head. "Still haven't got any bars. And the power's still down so the landline won't work either. But surely they've figured out something is wrong by now and are trying to get in."

"I hope so," Ducky agreed. "But we have no way of knowing what's happening until the power is restored."

"Darn it," Abby sighed, glancing at the flashlight sadly. The lights should have come back on by now; the back-up generator should have come on at least.

But then, as though someone was listening, the lights flickered back on.

"Oh thank God," Ducky mumbled, but paused. He frowned. "Hang on, it's only . . ."

"Auxiliary lighting," Abby sighed, finishing Ducky's sentence. "The back-up generators have come on finally." She managed a small smile. "At least your bodies should be back on ice now. We won't have to worry about dying from the smell."

"But at least we have some power," Palmer spoke up brightly, trying to look at the computer screen to see what was happening on level two. It was dark. "Oh, right. I guess the computers aren't working."

"Nor the phones." Ducky had picked up his landline.

"At least we have light?" Abby tried to find the silver lining. Then she had an idea. "Hold on, the back-up generator has enough energy to power MTAC. If I could divert some of its power down here, then I could have the computer back up. I probably won't be able to get the cameras back, but at least it's something."

"It sounds good, Abby, but how are you going to divert the power?" Ducky questioned. "Unless someone goes down to the boiler . . . oh."

Abby and Palmer exchanged looks. Palmer sighed and nodded, resigned. Might as well, he thought. Apparently he hadn't had his quota of danger for the day.

Abby gave him a smile that said _I'm sorry_. "So, Black Lung, fancy another adventure?"


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

"Let there be light!" Abby announced cheerfully as she and Palmer returned from their second trip out. "Or at least . . . let there be computers!"

Abby hurried over to the computer and powered it up. It hummed and sprang to life. Abby punched the air in triumphant and quickly logged on. Unfortunately, as she had said before, the cameras were unavailable.

"Oh well," she muttered. "Can't have everything. We have a computer though."

"To do what with?" Harry asked. "It's not quite the time for playing Solitaire," he joked.

"We-ell." Abby drew out the word. "I'm sure I can think of something."

"So what are we going to do now?" Palmer echoed Harry. "We have guns and lights and a computer with no security cameras."

"It's better than what we had before," Abby defended. She turned to Ducky. "But we have to do something," she exclaimed. "We can't just sit here and do nothing." She paused and her face lit up. "We could attempt a daring rescue!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Abigail," Ducky replied. "The best thing we can do is wait for reinforcements."

"But what if they don't come?" Abby argued. "What then? Harry needs medical attention and who knows what's happen up in the bullpen. They could be injured for all we know. Or worse . . . dead."

"She is right, you know." Palmer looked nervous. "We have no idea if a rescue team is coming any time soon. We can't sit around and do nothing."

"Yes, we can," Ducky said firmly. "There will be no rescue attempts, no foolish acts of bravery. I would like us to remain alive to be rescued."

"Well, I disagree," Abby replied defiantly. "I think we should try and free the hostages."

"This is not a film, Abigail." Ducky gave her what passed as a glare from the medical examiner. "We do not rush in heroically and save the day. If something goes wrong, there is no second take."

"But it's Gibbs." Abby looked to be on the verge of tears. "Don't you get it? This is_ our_ place, _our_ home, and it's been overrun with bad men and guns. We're meant to feel safe here. We investigate the crimes; we're not supposed to _become_ one!"

"Abby, I understand . . ." Ducky rubbed his temples; he was getting a headache.

"No, you don't understand!" Abby yelled. "I just can't . . . let these . . . _people_ take over. I just can't."

"Um," Palmer spoke up with an idea. All eyes zeroed in on him and he gulped. "Um, perhaps we could get access to one of the security cameras in Agent Gibbs' office. Just one, surely we have enough power to do that. Then we could see what's going on and take it from there."

Abby glanced at Ducky. "A teeny little look wouldn't hurt."

Ducky finally relented and nodded. "But no theatrics, Abigail."

"Of course not." Abby grinned and turned back to the computer.

She entered a few commands and pressed a complicated pattern of keys before crowing in triumphant. "And we're in!"

The others clustered around the computer desk and the screen crackled to life. It wasn't the best angle, but it gave them a clear enough view of the bullpen and . . .

Abby swore. Violently.

The remaining employees lined the edges of Gibbs' team's office. Their hands were positioned on the backs of their heads, but that wasn't what had caught their attention. Lying in the middle was an agent, though the autopsy inhabitants couldn't identify him properly, clearly dead.

Again that wasn't what caught their attention. A man, a terrorist, stood in the entrance to the bullpen. At his feet lay another agent . . . Tony. He'd been shot, that much was obvious, but he was writhing in pain so thankfully he was still alive.

Abby gasped and covered her mouth, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. They could see that Gibbs was itching to go to Tony's side, but the terrorist in the bullpen doorway held a gun to a women from Legal, stopping all attempts at getting to Tony.

"Tell me they don't need rescuing now!" Abby exclaimed tearfully, glaring at Ducky. "One man's already dead and Tony's dying! And what about that poor woman? They need our help."

She could tell Ducky was relenting. Abby could see the tense creases on Ducky's face as he tried to assess Tony from the little grainy picture on the screen. So Abby tried one final push.

"No one's coming, Ducky," she finished softly. "Don't you think they would have by now? It's been hours. We need to do something to end it and get Harry and Tony medical attention."

"Abby's right," Palmer agreed. "Although I'm terrified just thinking about it, she's right. We can't sit back and do nothing. This could go on for days. What if the bad guys start shooting hostages, what then? I don't want to see that happen."

"Harry?" Abby asked.

"We-ell," Harry started hesitantly, "I am a man of action but it's pretty risky. No offense, but you guys are hardly trained agents. A scientist, two medical officers and a wounded security guard . . . it's not who I'd choose to stage a rescue."

"I wouldn't choose us either," Abby pointed out. "But we have to choose us; there's no one else."

"Okay," Ducky said finally, holding up a hand to stall all other conversation. "Say we went along with this, hypothetically, how would we do it?"

That threw Abby, who hadn't actually thought about the logistics beyond actually staging a rescue.

"Well, we have guns?" Palmer shrugged.

"Do any of you actually know how to fire a gun?" Harry asked.

Abby and Ducky raised their hands, but Palmer shook his head.

"But I've never actually fired one with the intention of hurting someone." Abby bit her lip nervously. "I don't know if I could."

"So if guns are out," Harry theorised, "what else do we have?"

"We have a computer," Palmer pointed out.

"And what could we do with a computer?" Harry challenged.

"Um . . . " Palmer had no idea.

"There is my medical equipment," Ducky offered, "but I'm not sure how it could be of help. And we have receiving –"

"Actually," Abby cut in, "we don't." She shrugged apologetically. "We could, theoretically, get into receiving from this side, but the other side is controlled mechanically. I don't think the Powers That Be would have designated it important enough to divert power to."

"Okay," Ducky amended, "no receiving."

"I wasn't finished," Abby cut in, slightly annoyed. "Even though we can't use receiving, it gave me an idea." She paused and gazed intently at the three men. "Remember the old fire exits on each floor? We don't use them anymore because they've been upgraded, but they're still there. There's one near Gibbs' bullpen."

"And they could use that!" Palmer finished excitedly.

"Exactly!" Abby exclaimed. "It leads to the outside and it's all operated manually so it would still work."

"But how," Harry pointed out, "are they going to get around the terrorists?" He ignored Ducky's "no terrorist" rule. "They could gun them down before they even reach the end of the bullpen."

"A diversion!" Palmer yelled and then lowered his voice when he got three strange looks. "Sorry. But like they do in the movies. A diversion."

"Yeah." Abby nodded rapidly. "To distract them and give Gibbs time to get out. I like it!"

"Abby," Ducky sighed, "what, pray tell, do you think you're going to use as a distraction? We are, as you said, not exactly rolling in materials."

"Smoke," Palmer suggested. "I saw it in a movie once. Or maybe it was a TV show. But anyway, they used smoke bombs to distract the bad guys."

"We don't have smoke bombs, Palmer," Abby told him. "But . . ." Her face lit up. ". . . I could probably mix something together that would resemble a smoke bomb." Abby frowned. "I'd have to go back to my lab, though."

Ducky shook his head. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Abigail. We want to distract them, not kill them."

Abby pouted. "Do you not have any faith in my chemistry abilities?"

"I trust your abilities completely, Abby. There are just too many variables with something like that. I do not know if we should risk it."

"So what do you suggest?" Abby snapped. "I can do it, you know. I know I can."

"I know you can too," Ducky said wisely. "But if we must, we can use it as a last resort."

"What about sirens?" Harry suggested. "The fire alarms, the sprinkler system, that kind of thing. If we could divert power to them from something else, that might give us the advantage we need."

"But it's not enough," Abby mused. "Even if it distracts them for a little while, they can still fire." She glanced at Ducky. "But if we added Jimmy's smoke idea, that would mean we could cut their sight and their hearing. It might be enough to let Gibbs and the others get away."

"And how are they going to know what to do?" Ducky played Devil's advocate, trying to pick out every point where something could go wrong. "If we spring loud noises and smoke on them, how are we to know they won't panic?"

There was silence as they mulled this over, but then Abby had an idea.

"Look." She pointed to the computer screen. "McGee can see that computer in the bullpen, right. The terrorists aren't focused on him or the computers. I saw it in a movie once. I could hack that computer in the bullpen and type Tim a message. He could pass it on so they were ready when it happened." Abby grinned. "It's practically perfect."

"Until one of the terrorists sees it," Harry pointed out.

Abby shrugged. "They won't see it then."

"I don't know, Abby." Ducky still looked unsure. "It sounds as though it's a plan from a poorly scripted film."

"What else do we have, Ducky?" Abby said desperately. "It's the best we've got. It's all or nothing. Look at Tony. How much longer do you think he's going to last?"

Finally Ducky nodded. "Okay. But we have to think this through carefully."

"Of course," Abby replied solemnly.

"Well, first we have to make this smoke of Ms Sciuto's." Harry started to plan their offensive. "And we will need someone to get close enough somehow to set it off." He paused. "How _are_ we going to do that?"

"Air vents?" Abby suggested. "It's just if we're going to go with the whole movie thing here, we might as well go all out. I can put the smoke into little vials that should crack when they hit the ground. Someone can sneak through the air-conditioning and push them out."

"Who?" Harry asked.

All eyes turned to Palmer and he sighed; apparently Black Lung wasn't about to retire just yet. "Fine. I can do it."

"Excellent." Abby grinned and turned back to the computer. "I'm going to close the camera." She couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "And pull up the central heating system to map out a path."

"Why don't I do that?" Harry suggested, leaning heavily on Abby's chair. The bleeding had stopped, but he was getting paler and paler by the second. "You need to get onto that smoke."

"I'll come with you," Ducky volunteered.

When Abby started to protest, Ducky held up his hand to silence her. "Nonsense, Abigail. I am not letting you roam around NCIS unescorted. And besides, I was a dab hand at chemistry in my day. You might need some help."

"And what about me?"

Ducky chuckled. "You, my boy, need to learn more than you ever wanted to know about the heating and cooling of this fine building. We wouldn't want you falling through the roof, now would we?"

* * *

"Right," Abby started determinedly once she and Ducky had returned from their science experiment in her lab. She was sitting at Autopsy's computer and was preparing to send a message to McGee and the other captives.

"I've managed to divert enough power to the alarm systems so they go off," Abby told them. "Though MTAC is now unfortunately running on next to nothing and I'm afraid we'll have to be quick or Petty Officer Banks might protest. The smokin' smoke satchels, as I call them, are set to go. Now for the important part . . ."

A blank screen appeared in front of Abby and she started typing out a short and concise message. It was nothing spectacular, nothing fancy, just simple instructions on what to do and what would happen. She finished with a flourish and pushed the chair away from the desk, twirling around on it.

She looked slightly nervous. "I really hope they got the message. I gave them a ten minute head start. It should take Jimmy about five minutes to navigate the ducts, so that gives us five minute until blast off. Everyone know what they're doing? I'm going to activate the alarms in five minutes and watch the camera, hoping things don't go wrong."

Palmer nodded. "I'm to get intimate with the insides of NCIS."

"That's one way of putting it," Abby agreed.

"I shall keep trying to make contact with the outside world," Ducky summarised. "Perhaps in their confusion, whatever those men are using to jam our signals may fail. We will need to alert the proper authorities that some friends shall be emerging from an old fire escape."

Abby smiled at him.

"And I'll try not to die," Harry said dejectedly. It wasn't as though he wanted to die, but the others had refused to allow him to take part in their rescue mission and for that, Harry was practically pouting. He didn't want to be left behind.

"And that's very important," Abby replied seriously before breaking out into a grin. "You need to be around to celebrate our awesome rescue skills.

"I guess." Harry still didn't sound happy, but he didn't complain.

"Right, so . . ." Abby glanced at the computer's clock. "Three minutes to show time. Anyone have any last words of inspiration?"

"Uh . . . I hope we don't kill anyone?" Palmer offered.

"I said inspiring words, Palmer."

"Oh."

"You'll be fine." It was Harry that spoke. "If I were one of them, I'd want you on my team. I couldn't think of a better group of people to rescue me, except for me of course, but I don't hold that against you." He grinned.

"See, Jimmy, those are what inspiring words should sound like," Abby remarked. "Ducky? Any wise words? Doesn't this remind you of a time when . . .?"

"Frankly, Abigail, I'm not sure that it does." Ducky looked amused. "Although, I do remember the time . . ."

Abby grinned brilliantly.

* * *

"Let's see what you're made of, Jimmy."

Five minutes had passed and during those five, they had managed to pull off the grate covering the duct. It was just big enough for Palmer to fit through, though he was not looking forward to it.

"Are you alright, Mister Palmer?" Ducky asked.

Palmer nodded, but looked pale and a little shaky. "Oh, you know, all in a day's work."

"That's the spirit, Black Lung," Abby exclaimed cheerfully. "Think about the accolades and recognition you'll get when this is over."

"I'd just like to be alive when it's over," Palmer muttered as he was boosted into the vent by Ducky and with the help of the desk chair.

"Got our smokin' smoke satchels?" Abby asked.

"As if I'd forget them."

"Perfect. Right, time to go, Palmer," Abby announced. "Have fun." She grinned, though her grin was almost nervous.

Palmer grumbled something that they couldn't make out, but took a deep breath and descended into the air vents of the NCIS building.

"He will be okay, right?" Abby asked worriedly when Palmer had disappeared from view. Now that she thought about it, their plan was pretty flimsy to say the least. So many things could go wrong . . . mostly their plan hinged on perfect timing and extraordinary luck.

Abby wished she'd brought a four-leaf clover to work today.

"Mister Palmer will be fine," Ducky assured her. "Now, aren't you meant to be preparing some alarm systems to fail?"

"Yeah," Abby echoed, glancing forlornly at the air duct. She really, really hoped this wasn't about to backfire on them.

"Yeah," she repeated firmly. "This will work."

"That's the spirit!" Ducky replied, almost jovially. He'd come around to the plan much quicker than Abby would have thought.

Abby took a deep breath as she sat down at the computer. This was it; the moment of truth. Make or break. Life or death. It sounded melodramatic, but it was true. Everything rested on the perfect timing of her and Jimmy. She just hoped they could pull it off.

"Here I go."

Wriggling her fingers to stretch them, Abby waited until exactly four and a half minutes had passed since they'd sent Palmer on his way. Then she attacked the keyboard with fury, using up all the auxiliary power to set off the fire alarms and the sprinkler system. Abby set them all for a ten second delay and pulled up the lone camera she had that viewed the bullpen. As much as Abby didn't want to look at the prone body of Anthony DiNozzo, she knew she had to watch.

This was their moment and nothing could go wrong.

It started.

Loud sirens screeched and filled the air with their painful pitch. Water started pelting down, soaking everyone to the core. Abby hadn't been able isolate the alarm or sprinkler system to just the second floor squadroom, so at this very moment the entire NCIS building was getting a thorough shower. Dully and distractedly, Abby wondered just how much trouble she might get in for making such a mess.

And then she saw her work of art. Smoke billowed across her camera, making it virtually impossible to see what was happening. She hoped, God she hoped, that Tim was rounding up the troops and getting everyone to safety, especially Tony. Dimly, she heard Ducky's triumphant exclamation as his cell phone managed enough bars to put through a static-y call to Navy Yard security.

The second floor of NCIS was plunged into chaos.

There was nothing more she could do; it was a waiting game now.

* * *

**Drama on High Land**

By Madeleine Rein, Features Writer

Yesterday, the Washington Navy Yard had its worst breach of security in a decade.

Early yesterday morning, six armed terrorists stormed the Naval Criminal Investigative Service headquarters and took several employees hostage. It is unknown why they did so, but it is possible that it is linked to the recent rumour of stolen state secrets.

Armed with machine guns, the terrorists took fifteen people hostage. Director Leon Vance of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service said in his statement to the press that it was lucky it was a Sunday; the slowest day of NCIS's week.

"Otherwise there might be many other families tonight without their loved ones at home," he said.

Veteran Special Agent Kevin Sands, 46, was the only fatality of the siege. It is not known how or why he died, but his family has asked for their privacy during this difficult time and NCIS has not released any other details. Other injuries included Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo with a serious gunshot to the thigh but who is in a stable condition, and security guard Harry Layne who was shot in the stomach and is expected to make a full recovery.

The most interesting aspect of this saga, though, is not the injured or the deceased, but how a rescue was staged. Prevented from directly entering the building, Navy Yard personnel and Metro police were at an impasse until the hostages started pouring out of a disused fire escape. Once the story of their courageous triumphant against the terrorists was told, it was clear that there were four heroes of the day; none of them trained Special Agents.

Forensic Specialist Abigail Sciuto, along with Medical Examiner Doctor Donald Mallard, his assistant James Palmer and shot security guard Harry Layne orchestrated a daring rescue attempt amid a Yard-wide blackout. Although details are sketchy, the rescue was pulled off successfully with no further fatalities.

"We are extremely proud of our employees," Director Vance commented in his press statement. "They showed fierce determination, creativity and logic during an otherwise terrifying situation. Be assured that these employees will receive the accolades they deserve."

While all four heroes declined to make a comment, it is clear from their colleagues that they will be forever grateful to their support staff for mounting such a daring rescue in such difficult circumstances.

One thing's for certain, we can be glad that people like them are protecting us from the dangers we face.

We salute you.

_Fin._


End file.
